


Collective Scars and Damaged Hearts

by CharmingNotDarling



Category: Blindspot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 11:09:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5288462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharmingNotDarling/pseuds/CharmingNotDarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's about to open her mouth, tell them how she's pretty sure she scared him, shocked him and seduced him all within the span of forty-five seconds, and the doorbell rings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collective Scars and Damaged Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> I just thought these ladies could use a break... and who doesn't love Thanksgiving... Completely un-betaed work... written in fits and starts and was impulsively posted... I still really hope you enjoy...

I just thought these ladies could use a break... and who doesn't love Thanksgiving... Completely un-betaed work... written in fits and starts and was impulsively posted... I still really hope you enjoy...

Jane's got the Thanksgiving Day Parade on in the background as she finishes up her morning work out. She doesn't fully understand the whole point of the parade, but it's tradition and it's happening a few dozen blocks from where she lives so she figures it's one of those things that society deems necessary in order to enjoy the day thoroughly.

She'd turned off the alarm last night and let herself sleep in, sleep until she couldn't sleep anymore. She was up a whole two hours later than she usually wakes, sleeping in didn't help much. There's still an entire day left with little to fill it.

She's just finished up the last round of burpees (God how she hates them) when there's a small knock at the door. She knows it's not her detail, not Kurt; that gentle tapping is most definitely female. It's just 8:30 on Thanksgiving morning, she can't imagine who it could be.

She checks the peephole and confirms her suspicion; Patterson is there, her too bright smile and sad eyes staring back at her.

She opens the door to find the front stoop littered with grocery bags, her detail is a few steps back, arms full of boxes.

"Morning, Jane." She says kicking her smile up a notch while reaching down for a handful of bags. "It dawned on me last night you probably don't have plans today, and considering how far away my family is and how much I really can't handle the inside of my apartment right now, I thought I'd come see if you'd like some company and an actual Thanksgiving meal." The woman is rambling, fighting nerves and sorrow and her own mind so Jane steps up, takes the bags from her hands and offers her own small smile in return.

"Who wouldn't love a home cooked meal." Jane tells her, opening the door all the way. She steps back to let Patterson in and can feel the relief rolling off her, can almost see her settling herself as if she wasn't sure of Jane's acceptance. She lets out a small almost laugh as she steps over the threshold and heads straight for the kitchen.

Jane steps back to let her detail in, their usually stoic expressions tainted in equal parts humor and confusion.

"Thanks, guys. You can put them anywhere." Patterson calls from somewhere deep within the apartment. "I hope you don't mind, Jane, I promised them a meal in exchange for their muscle."

Jane smiles at the idea, locks the door behind the agents as they return to their post out front. She watches as Patterson meticulously organizes piles of bags, mumbling to herself as she takes inventory.

"Would you like some coffee? It's fresh" Jane asks, interrupting the single sided conversation. Patterson eyes the coffee pot on the counter and then turns serious and somber eyes on Jane.

"That, is not coffee." She says pointing accusingly at the machine. "That box, the one on the chair, yep that one, there's a French press in there. I'll show you coffee." Jane pulls the little glass pot from the box, hands it to Patterson. She takes another look at all the kitchen gadgets, two boxes full, and can't imagine using them all just for one meal.

"Have you cooked at all in this kitchen?" Patterson asks, and there's no judgement in her voice, it's just a question she asks as she opens every cabinet, pulls out every drawer.

Jane shrugs and let's the gesture be her answer.

"Okay well you're gonna cook in it today." Patterson tells her, and there's humor and maybe even a little bit of joy in the words. So much so that Jane has to smile.

"Okay, let me shower and then I'll help."

They peel and chop and slice and blend throughout the morning. Jane wonders more than once, exactly how many people Patterson plans to feed. The turkey was huge when she watched her bathe it in olive oil and salt before throwing it in the oven and she thinks she's peeled enough potatoes and carrots for the entire staff at the office.

She's really enjoying herself though. The company and the simple chores, the amazing French press coffee that accompanied the fresh bagels Patterson was thoughtful enough to bring as well.

Jane knows Patterson is trying to keep her mind busy, understands what it's like to have too much room to breathe, to much time to think, too many wrongs you couldn't right.

She thinks of Weller and Carter. Wonders what the first really thinks about what happened to the second. She wishes she didn't have to think of Carter anymore, knows it will be a while before what he really was comes to light. She thinks of Oscar and- She doesn't want to think of him. She doesn't want to bring those thoughts, any of them, here today. She'll have plenty of time for them soon enough.

There's a knock at the door and their eyes meet across the kitchen as they ask together,

"Were you expecting someone?"

When Patterson shakes her head no, Jane turns for the door, trepidation in her every move. "I wonder who else it could be," when she looks through the peephole she's beyond surprised. She turns back to Patterson, who has stepped out of the kitchen, mixing bowl and wooden spoon in hand, "it's Agent Zapata." Jane says, voice laced in awe.

Patterson smiles, "well let her in!"

Zapata is standing inside the screen door, paper bag on her hip, guilty smile on her lips. "Hey Jane, Happy Thanksgiving. Patterson here?" She asks as Jane steps back to let her in.

"Happy Thanksgiving." She says on autopilot, awe evident in her voice. "How did you know?" She asks Zapata and then turns to Patterson, eyes asking for some clarity. But she doesn't have to wait long, because Tasha is stripping off her winter coat and emptying the bag she carried in.

"Well when I didn't find Patterson at home I figured there weren't too many places she would be. So, I thought I'd come see what the deal was. Something smells amazing." She says as she breaks the seal on the bottle of bourbon that followed the bottle of tequila out of the bag. "Anyone want a drink?"

"That's right it smells amazing! It's going to taste even better. I hope you're hungry." Patterson calls, her voice far off and full of echoes. When she reappears it's with three glasses Jane has never seen, and she hands them through the window from the kitchen. When Zapata sits on one of the bars stools and starts to pour, Jane steps away from the door and sits beside her.

There's something off in Zapata's eyes. She doesn't have to know the agent well to understand guilt and resentment turned inward. She takes the glass when Tasha hands it to her, thinks of their night out, the drinks, the shopping and the clothes, and figures they all deserve a day to forget what's eating them from the inside. A chance to just be a couple of women who work together and enjoy each others company.

She's so glad they're here with her. So glad they're comfortable enough, enjoy her company enough, to come without motive or cause.

Zapata's phone chimes from its perch on the end of the small bar. It's directly in Jane's line of sight and she can't help but turn her eyes to the screen.

"Who is it?" Zapata asks as she lifts her glass to sip.

"It's Reade." Jane tells her, "he wants to know where you are. And he says not to lie because he knows you're not home, he's at your place and you aren't."

"Tell him to come!" Patterson calls from the kitchen. Jane meets Zapata's eyes and both women can't help but smile at Patterson's enthusiasm.

"Is there any reason you wouldn't want him to come?" Jane asks softly. As she hands Zapata her phone.

"None at all." She answers while studying the bottom of her glass. "But," she lifts her eyes and their full of mischief, "if we're asking Reade, someone should call Weller."

Patterson slides up to the window as if waiting for this point of conversation, props her elbows on the the ledge and grins at Jane through the opening, "yeah, Jane, call Weller."

"Me?" She asks with wide eyes and flushing cheeks. The pair of them smirk at her and smile at each other.

"Please, Jane, you'd have to be blind to not see the way he looks at you." Patterson starts.

"The way you look at each other." Zapata corrects as she stands and makes her way over to the couch, props her feet up on the coffee table, ankles crossed.

"Have you kissed him?" Patterson asks as she slips out of the kitchen, joins Tasha on the couch. The two of them sip and smirk and stare in tandem, Jane is pretty sure she can feel her skin crawl under the weight of their eyes. She opens her mouth to speak, once, twice, and she can't find anything to push forward and say. She doesn't want to lie to them, but she honestly can't tell them the truth.

"Oh my God, she has." Zapata says, feet falling to the floor as she sits up, elbows to knees, glass clattering to the table, the majority of the humor is gone from her eyes, now they're just huge, bottomless pools of surprise. "We're definitely calling Reade. He owes me fifty bucks now."

Patterson lets out a hoot of laughter and hands Zapata her phone. "Go ahead, Jane, call Weller, see if he'd like to come by."

"You can't tell Reade." It's all she says when she finally speaks, she drops to her knees and leans toward them over the coffee table. "You can't tell him, you can't tell anyone. If Mayfair finds out, they won't let us work together anymore. What would I do if that happened?" She bites the corner of her lower lip as she continues to beg with her eyes. "Besides, it was just once."

The ladies share a look before Zapata sets her phone aside. "Okay. Secrets safe with me. But when this whole thing comes to light I want you to confirm this conversation took place, Reade's not skirting paying me."

"Just like that?" Jane asks with the emotion and relief swimming in her eyes.

"Yeah, just like that." Patterson says meeting Jane's eyes, reaching for her limp fingers resting on the table, "that's what friends do."

Zapata toasts in agreement as she settles back into the couch. "Friends also ask lots of intrusive questions, demand details and offer insight." She watches Jane go pale from over the rim of her glass, can't help but laugh at the pained expression on her face.

Jane looks from one woman to the other, sees the soft and gentle pulse of Patterson's heart and the glittery and shadowed shimmer of Tasha's curiosity. Finds herself actually wanting to share something so private with them. Patterson was right, it's got something to do with the fact that their friends now. She surprises them both with what she says next.

"What do you want to know?"

The three sit in stunned silence for a moment and just as Patterson opens her mouth, Zapata's phone starts to ring.

"It's Reade." She says as she rolls her eyes and answers. She gets up and heads into the hall to speak to him.

Patterson turns to Jane and hands Jane her cellphone. "Call Weller. See what he says. It'll be nice to have the team together for reasons that don't involve puzzles or bloodshed."

Jane nods, opts to text instead. It's easier to do when she doesn't have to form sentences under pressure. They really haven't had a chance to talk about what happened that night anyway.

"Reade's on his way."

"Why does Reade owe you fifty dollars?" Jane asks when Zapata walks back into the room with the bourbon bottle in one hand, stuffed mushroom in the other.

"Those are for later!" Patterson declares as she jumps up off the couch.

"He owes me fifty bucks because you kissed Weller, not the other way around."

"I never said I did." Jane tells her. "And why would you be betting on which one of us would kiss the other?"

"You didn't have to tell me," Zapata downs the rest of the mushroom and gives that smile laced in mischief again, "it was all over your face. As for why we're betting in the first place, it's kinda hard not to speculate when two people look at each other they way you two do."

Jane's phone chirps before she can comment and they both turn towards her.

"Well?" Patterson asks as she sets a plate of stuffed mushrooms on the coffee table, Tasha instantly reaches for a second one and Patterson thrusts a cocktail napkin into her hands.

"Weller says he'll be by in a bit, Sarah and Sawyer are leaving to see his father."

Zapata tops off everyones glass before she sits again, Patterson plates a few more mushrooms and looks at Jane holding her phone, lost in thought.

"Did you tell him we were here?" Zapata asks.

"Yeah, I told him Reade would be her soon and that he was welcome to come."

Patterson pops off the coach again, heads back into the kitchen. Tasha turns to Jane, leans across the table, keeps her voice low. "Thanks for letting her come play house. She needed this. When I got to her place today I figured I would find her in a puddle of her own tears. I'm glad she came to you and that you were here for her."

Jane stands when she hears Patterson stacking plates and silverware, looks down at Tasha, "that's what friends do." Tasha smiles and looks into her glass, "Lets help her set up. She also promised my detail dinner, it should be an interesting night."

Zapata sets her glass down, considers another mushroom, refrains for Patterson's sake and the fact that she knows she'll never hear the end of it if they're gone before the guys get there.

"Oh, Jane?" Tasha grabs her arm as they enter the kitchen, "Don't think for one second I've forgotten about the intrusive questions, demands for details or the offer of insights."

Paterson snorts out a laugh as she hands Tasha an army of plates Jane has never seen. "She wont forget, believe me."

Jane smiles as she takes the silverware and follows Tasha out to the table. She's about to open her mouth, tell them how she's pretty sure she scared him, shocked him and seduced him all within the span of forty-five seconds, and the doorbell rings.

Patterson rushes out of the kitchen, hands full of pretty cloth napkins, throws an arm around each of them and squeezes them tight, "thanks for this, for today, I can't tell you how much this means to me." They instinctively hug her back, and instantly three become one. A unit, a team, an army of strength and wisdom and loyalty. Jane feels a rush of heat, a tug of longing and a need to protect, they all rise up so fast they catch her off guard. She leans into Patterson, throws her other arm around Tasha and pulls, lets the plates and silverware bump between them.

So this is what friendship feels like.

When the second knock comes, it's more demanding than the first, she lets them both go, shakes off the emotion clinging to her in an embarrassing haze and heads for the door.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!


End file.
